like we're going to war
by meatballs in the impala
Summary: AU. Coda to 'a city on our knees'. Maybe I'll see you in another life, because we wasted this one.


**status** complete  
 **background** 4x19, with an alternative ending  
 **notice** Finals are knocking at my door and what do I do? Dig up half-finished fics, of course. I had this lying around for quite some time now. It takes place immediately after **a city on our knees** and before **ain't easy being green** , so you might want to go read those before moving on with this story. While it's two companions are relatively lighter both in tone and in theme, I played with some darker undertones in this one. Dean and Jo always set the ground for angst anyway. While I made it pretty clear, in my two other stories, that Dean and Jo had nothing plausible going on with each other, I couldn't resist toying with their almost-romance in this one. Dean would totally be the guy to try and drown his sorrow in a woman, after all. But when that woman is Jo, things get pretty raw. The flame of this OTP will never stop burning in my heart, kids.

* * *

 **like we're going to war;  
** _sometimes our saints are sinners._

* * *

"Are you obsessed with my nose or something?" Dean asked begrudgingly, as he pushed a pack of ice against his aching nose.

Jo raised an eyebrow at him noncommittally, her fingers working deftly on the needle as she stitched up his bicep. "What makes you say that?"

"You keep breaking it." Jo didn't smile or laugh at his comment, her attention shifting back to his wounded arm. "You're a goddamn butcher," he offered casually, noticing the way she plugged the needle into his skin ruthlessly. Lucky for him, he had already downed a few shots and the whiskey was doing a good job in numbing the pain he felt.

Jo's eyes narrowed and she waved the needle in front of his face; a little too close to his eyes for his liking. "Listen, _princess_. As long as you're in my care, you don't get to be a smartass. I babysit your brother, fix you up, give you booze—you don't have the right to act all mighty with me. So shut up and let me finish or keep it up and risk an infection."

Dean didn't visibly argue or agree, but he shut his cakehole, so Jo took it as a sign of surrender. Minutes passed in silence, with Jo effectively managing to sew up Dean's arm. When she was nearly done, he spoke up. "How's Adam?"

"Less of a troublemaker than the rest of his family," she replied mechanically. She hadn't exactly expected Dean to pursue a heart-to-heart, but if the shoe fit, she'd wear it.

"It's fucking messed up," Dean said with a sigh and a shake of his head. Jo stood up and went to retrieve another bandage from the cupboard. "We've already had our hands full before he came up. And, _shit_ , he—"

"Adam's a good kid," Jo interrupted him. "He doesn't deserve this life. You and Sam and I—we chose it. One way or another, we did. It was a part of us before we even knew what lurked in the shadows. But Adam's not like this. He didn't choose it. He was dumped into the pile of shit we call our lives. But he's taking it like a man and he's not freaking out. So give him some credit and stop bitching about it because you're disappointed in your father."

Dean's eyes flashed with repressed anger, but he somehow managed to control it. It wasn't unlike Jo to call him out on his bullshit and actually fight back. In fact, it seemed to be all she was capable of. But something inside him managed to convince him that Jo had done nothing to deserve his wrath this time. He sighed instead and ran his hands over his face.

"You're right." Jo tried not to look surprised at this admission, but ultimately failed. "I'm mad. I'm fucking mad at Dad for taking off and leaving us behind to create another family. I'm mad at him for keeping Adam safe while he raised us to be soldiers. I'm mad at Sam for kick-starting the Apocalypse. I'm mad at myself for not preventing it, for not knowing about Adam, because how could I have _missed_ that? I'm mad at Adam for being my dad's son and having the life I never did. And I'm mad at you for not—"

In a matter of mere seconds, it had become personal. Dean brought his fist against his mouth to prevent himself for uttering another word. And Jo was standing there with the bloody bandages in her hands, unable to move towards or away from him. "For what, Dean?"

He shook his head. "I'm mad at _us_ — for not finding a right place and a right time. For never even trying to."

Jo swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn't want to have this conversation. _Ever_. And especially with him. "Dean, we—"

"And you know what, Jo? All this dancing around and bitching at each other's fine. But it's not right, and it's not _fair_ ; to either of us. And I know—I _know_ that we never looked for the right place and time because we knew, we goddamn knew that there would never be one."

Dean stood up abruptly then, making Jo flinch, because she didn't know whether to be upset, elated or depressed. This was just too much. "But I wanted to," he said, taking a step towards her. "God knows I wanted us to find that right place and time so much, Jo."

"Don't," Jo breathed out, preventing him from moving closer or saying another word. "You don't get to do this, Dean. You don't get to treat me like fucking crap and then say all those things to me. I'm not stupid. And I sure as Hell won't bait."

Dean's brow furrowed. "I'm not trying to bait you, Jo. I'm serious. I want us to be something—"

" _No_ ," she replied adamantly, straightening her spine so that their height difference was smaller. "That's not how it goes. You say you want the right place and right time—well, _this_ isn't it. There's a boy out there who just lost his mother and has nobody else in the world but you and Sam. And believe it or not, he needs you. His life is in your hands now, so don't go telling me that you chose this moment to pursue a relationship because that's bullshit. Your love life can wait, Dean—Adam can't. He's your brother, and you best get that through your head already."

Jo briefly wondered how in the world he managed to refrain himself from punching her in the face. Dean's temper was rather short by nature, and he wasn't beyond ending an argument with his fist, when words ran out. But in their case, he seemed to be able to keep his calm, although she could see the anger flaring up in his eyes.

"Fine," Dean replied coldly, snatching the bandage from her hands and moving away. "I'll deal with Adam. But you need to sort your fucking shit out, Jo. Because I'm not the one who doesn't know what they want."

As she watched him leave, Jo sighed. There they went again; that same never-ending circle. Always trying to figure out who could hurt the other more before life managed to catch up with them. "Dean—"

"Don't," he cut her off, the bandages clenched in his fists. "I've got your answer, you've got mine. Let's leave it at that. I've got bigger problems to deal with, Jo."

Jo closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his footsteps exiting her apartment, followed by two other pairs of feet that stumbled behind him.

The Impala sped down the street and she was left breathing heavily in the early morning glow, staring at the needle that had pierced his skin moments ago as it lay innocently on her kitchen table.

If only he managed to keep from tearing a hole through her heart the same way for once.


End file.
